


The Assassin and the Templar

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Het, NSFW, Oral, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would never work, a relationship between a Templar and an Assassin, would it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Assassin and the Templar

The large white-washed manor stands alone and eerily quiet in the dark. Its remote location makes it an easy target for assassins and thieves alike, less prying eyes about to sound the alarm. 

Slipping through the fields and trees had been easy, as was avoiding the various guards that regularly patrolled the border. Perhaps, now that you think on it, it had been a little _too_ easy.

Each floorboard of the balcony seems to creek deafeningly loud as you try and make your way stealthily to the open upstairs window. The wooden shutters have been flung open in the humid night air, allowing the flickering light from the lamps inside to spill out into the darkness. A shadow moves and you pause, thinking you have been spotted, and automatically pull back from the windows edge. But it is just a trick of the light; the shadows continue to dance from inside the room.

Sliding through the window and into the large ornate room, you spot your target, ripe for assassination. His back is to you, jacket and hat haphazardly thrown across the back of a chair. Broad shoulders encased in white cotton move back and forth, you can hear the gentle scratch of quill over parchment as his head dips downward towards his work. The blood red ribbon tying back dark hair adds a splash of colour to all that white and matches the waistcoat perfectly. You wonder if he was vane enough to choose it deliberately.

He is alone, unprotected, an easy target. You almost tsk at the discarded pistol and sword on the far dresser. They are too far away; out of reach should he need them.

You continue, creeping closer, blade at the ready.

The scratching of quill stops suddenly and you freeze, holding your breath. You hadn’t made a noise, you know you hadn’t. A small squeak of surprise almost leaves you lips and a deep rich voice fills the room.

‘So, have you come to kill me assassin?’ The targets voice is crisp, defined.

He is guessing surely? He couldn’t have heard you, couldn’t have known you were there. He hasn’t even turned in your direction!

His dark head cocks slightly, as if he were going to glance over his shoulder but he stops himself and continued writing.

‘I heard you clamber up the trellis.’ The Templar mocks, accent pure English upper-class. He and his followers will never fit in in this new free world, whatever he believes or strives for.

‘You did _not_.’ You utter indignantly, breaking your silence. 

There is only a low chuckle in response, a noise that sends shivers all the way down your spine. 

Ceasing the moment you step forwards silently and quickly, the tip of your blade pressing against the smooth pale expanse of neck just above his ruffled shirt collar.

Broad male shoulders tense automatically, back straightens, as the cold steel raises goosebumps on his skin.

The Templar carefully places the quill down on the desk, head turning slightly again but not enough to meet your eye from your position behind. You get the first hint of his strong masculine profile, you could tell it was him from behind, but you can now make out the slightly darker stubble on his jaw and pronounced nose.

There is the slightest bob of his Adams apple as he swallows but his voice is still clear, still defiant.

‘I could have stopped you any time I wished.’

‘ _Really_?’ You challenge, pressing forwards slightly so that the tip of your blade presses more firmly against his throat. ‘And yet here I am, blade at your throat. What’s the matter Grandmaster? Getting slow in your old age?’

He snorts, a derisive noise through that considerable nose.

‘Typical assassins, never seeing the bigger picture, never looking deeper than the surface.’

There is a small movement at his elbow, you can’t see clearly through folds of shirt fabric but there seems to be a flash of metal. Carefully, you move further to the side to see past broad shoulders. Where his closest arm rests on his desk near the quill he just discarded, the further away is folded across his stomach, pistol resting on his lap. It is loaded and cocked, and pointing at you from under his arm, deftly concealed by his clothing.

‘You might cut my throat but rest assured I will be taking you with me assassin.’ 

Haytham Kenway smirks self-assuredly. You could hear the gloating in his voice even if you hadn’t been able to see his face.

That smug arrogant _bastard_ , you think. But you _have_ missed him. 

There is the resonating clank of metal on the wooden desk top and you just have a few seconds to turn your blade out of the way or impale him as the Templar discards his pistol with lazy ease and arms snake around your hips, pulling you into his lap.

Fingers dance up the outside of your thigh as lips meet yours, demanding and hungry. Haytham's kisses are fierce and possessive, full of the same self-assured arrogance that drips from his voice with every word.  
You barely get a chance to breathe as his kisses probe deeper, tongue sliding along your own. You only just manage to wiggle free of his grip enough to manoeuvre around to place knees either side of his thighs and straddle his lap. It provides an enticing opportunity to rub the front of your body against his.

Finally breaking free you are left gasping for breath as you pant in excitement. His hair is in disarray and wet lips are pink tinged from kisses. He looks entirely fuckable.

Haytham gives you a salacious grin as he toys with the fastenings of your clothing.

‘Miss me?’

You shake your head, teasing, even as you gasp when he tried to wriggle long warm fingers under your tunic, aiming for the delicious contact of skin on skin.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He murmurs deeply, closing in for another round of incredible kissing.

The Templar groans as you pull away from his lips at the last minute. 

You slide off his incredibly soft, warm lap to stand on the floor between his chair and the desk. Taking a few moments to sheath your blade, you can tell he is watching with impatience and very eager to get back to kissing, or even more intimate things.

Crossing the room, you head for the Grandmasters large ornate bed that stands in the corner of the room, partly hidden from his study area by several carved screens. You don’t even bother to check if he is following, swaying your hips a little more than was necessary, knowing he will be watching and excited. Sliding onto the bed, you turn to see Haytham already out his chair and heading your way. 

The red waistcoat buttons pop one by one as he starts undressing before he even reaches your position on the bed, revealing more startlingly white shirt, contrasted by all that red cloth and tanned skin.

His hair is longer than the last time you saw him you notice, dark black flecked with grey now curls across one shoulder. He’s looking older, tired. The assassins are giving the Templars a run for their money, and the war isn’t going as well as they would like, nor is the out coming serving the order as favourably as they wanted. No doubt the stress that comes with the highest job is weighing heavily on Haytham's shoulders.

But here are only smiles from the Grandmaster in your direction. That and lust filled gazes, as he approaches with nothing but the pleasure the two of you could be having on his mind.

Toeing his shoes off at the side of the bed, Haytham wastes no time in following you onto it, covering your body with his own and pushing you further against the soft mattress. You welcome him with open arms, and legs, as he nestles comfortably between them.

‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ He breathes against your skin before resuming animate exploration of your jaw and neck line with his mouth. You can only wriggle under him, trapped by his weight and tortured by his lips.

‘I was in the area.’ You gasp as his tongue finds the small hollow at the base of your throat. Your body bucks under his automatically. Inhaling deeply, he smells so good. You enjoy the firm press of his warm body, his skin against yours. It has been ages since you both managed the time for a quick illicit tryst together and you have missed him. By his actions, he clearly has missed you, too.

Wrapping legs around his waist only pulls him closer and you both sink further into the soft bedding. 

Haytham’s hands, much like his kisses, wander everywhere across your body, never stopping for more than few moments, as if he was unable to completely drink in his fill of you.

You are both just relaxing into one another, pent up tension being released with the press of each other’s bodies when a commotion from outside draws your attention. Haytham stills, body ridged as he listens carefully, nose still buried in your hairline.

Muffled voices appear at his bedroom door. A sharp, deep, English accent calls out, ‘Master Kenway?’ And the distinct click of door handle being turned fills the room.

Haytham growls lowly before rolling off the bed with alarming speed. He flings rumpled bedclothes over you as he does so, heading towards the door to cut off those entering the room.

Curling up in a smallest ball as possible and concealed in lumps and folds of fabric you hope the dim light and partial screening will make it look like nothing more than a messy bed. You really don’t need to be discovered by a group of Templars in the Grandmasters bed.

‘Master Kenw-‘ The same voice sounds louder, further into the bedroom but it cuts off sharply, no doubt taking in Haytham’s dishevelled appearance.

‘I was getting ready for bed.’ Haytham lies. You can hear the frustration and thinly veiled anger in his voice even if you can’t see him from your hiding position. You can only imagine the looks on the other Templars faces.

‘I’m sorry sir. I would come back later but this is import-‘

‘What is it Charles?’ Haytham snaps, a little too curtly you think. 

You recognised the name and the voice. Charles Lee is on a list. A list of Templars that need to be eliminated. But not today. You will take great pleasure in disposing of the odious Mr Lee another on another occasion. Now that you think on it, Grandmaster Kenway is likely to be on that list also. As head of the colonial Templar order he is an important and influential figure, a prime target.

You wonder, curled up comfy in his bed, with the taste of his kisses on your lips and smell of his aftershave all around you, whether you will be asked to do it, and more importantly, if you could. Who would have expected and Assassin and a Templar to have any sort of relationship that didn’t involve trying to kill one another? It was best for all concerned for the pair of you to remain silent. It would be unwise for other Templar or Assassin agents to find out about this little affair.

There is faint muttering from further in the room next to the desk that Haytham had been working at. Despite the current situation, you are still an Assassin and this could be a prime opportunity to find out a little information. 

You peek out slightly from your hiding place amongst the covers but you can’t see anything, which should hopefully mean any Templars in the room can’t see you either. The Templars mutterings are in low hushed voices, even straining to hear you still can’t make out what they are saying. You recognise the tempo of Haytham’s voice and the heavy sigh that is clearly him as well. After several more moments the male voices recede and there is the distinct sound of a door being firmly closed as several pairs of feet shuffle out.

Sliding out form he piles of fabric you can hear Haytham lock the door firmly behind his men and pad back across the floor towards you.

He approaches the bed, slipping off his shirt as he does so and discarding it with a flourish on the floor. You watch the flutter of white fabric, but more enticingly, the reveal of Haytham’s body. Licking your lips at the play of muscles in his arms and chest as the shirt slides over his head, you are hoping the trousers that are already loosened are the next thing to go.

Your eyes dip down his body, and you are aware you are probably looking at the Grandmaster like he is something tasty to eat. Your gaze settles on the distinct bulge in the front of his clothing, Haytham only smirks at your unabashed staring.

Sliding back onto the bed, you are suddenly met with a vast expanse of deliciously warm naked torso.

‘Now, where were we?’ He practically purrs as lips continue caressing every bare patch of skin of yours that he can reach.

‘Apparently…’ Haytham drawls, voice full of teasing, ‘according to Mr Lee, several of my Templars that I sent to obtain some items from town have been… _assassinated_.’

You give him your most innocent expression, one that fools guards everywhere. Haytham raises a sceptical eyebrow; he knows you too well and is unconvinced. It is too large a coincidence for you to turn up and a number of Templars to disappear. However, it is not like he is angry, more amused at the situation.

‘And low and behold who turns up at my door? You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?’

‘Technically, I turned up at your bedroom window.’ You give Haytham a mischievous grin and kiss him in effort to change topic. It is clearly he is teasing and not concerned enough to stop what he is doing. He only gives a mock long suffering sigh and a devilish smirk.

‘Oh well, I’m sure I will think of a suitable… _punishment_.’

‘Sounds fun.’

‘Don’t bet on it.’

Haytham rolls you deftly onto your stomach, covering the back of your body with his own, breath tickling behind your ear. His body is solid, pushing you further face down into the bedding. Hips grin against your backside and you can feel the firm line of his cock straining against layers of clothing and digging into your soft flesh.

My his ‘punishment’ seems delightful at the moment and you can’t help pushing up against him just to feel him grind harder between your legs. 

You find yourself undressed easily and quickly, deft hands making light work of complicated assassin robes until you are left shuddering as naked skin finally presses against naked skin.

Haytham makes sure that one large palm stays pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you upper body to the bed while you stick your arse up in the air, trying to keep pressed against him. He grabs fist full of soft flesh and squeezes your rump until you wriggle. He soon follows with a short sharp smack to your bare backside that takes your breath away. You put up minimal protest, struggling lightly against him enough to make the game interesting and to force him to use his weight and a little strength to keep you pinned where he wants you.

Any resistant soon turns to excited moaning as the Templars lips skim lightly down your spine. He pauses every so often; torturing you and making sure you are desperately writhing under him. By the time he reaches your arse you are pushing more firmly backwards wanting a little more friction.

Teeth sinking into your skin so firmly it feels like he has left an imprint. The soft flesh of your backside feels hot and raised and you whimper as he sooths the area with his tongue.

Legs automatically strain wider as Haytham scoots ever lower on the bed. This is more like it, he’s getting to the areas you most want that talented mouth of his but he is being frustratingly teasing in his actions. The very tip of his tongue scrapes your clit leaving you panting for more, but the angle is all wrong so you try and raise your hips. Haytham only chuckles at your impatience as his tongue makes another briefest-of-contact swipes through the folds of your pussy. 

Groaning in dissatisfaction and unwilling to accept further delay you manage to wriggle up from the bed and turn to face him. The Grandmaster is almost lying fully face down on the bed, grey eyes sparking mischievously up at you as he slowly and deliberately licks his pouting bottom lip. He looks deliciously edible half naked and with hair loosely escaping the confines of his braid.

Haytham kneels on the bed, tight white britches that had already been loosened are hugging his hips and in danger of falling off all on their own. There is a brief tangle of limbs as you help him shirk out the last of his clothing, discarding it carelessly on the floor.

You have seen him naked many times before, but he is still stunning, still in good shape for a man of his age and still skilled enough to make you come with seemingly the barest of efforts. A quick sharp shove to his chest has the Grandmaster tumbling backwards against the mattress. It is easy for you to crawl along his body and straddle his hips, he grins at your dominance, enjoying watching your naked above him. It is not the first time he had let himself be secured under you and at your mercy.

‘Oh I love a strong woman.’ He teases.

‘Shut up.’

‘Yes _madam_.’

Kissing him, you have found, is the only way to get Haytham to shut up, so you do so, at length.

Haytham’s thick cock is already hard, tip glistening with in excitement. It presses against your stomach, trapped between your bodies. Leaning forwards against him you nibble at his lips with your own while you purposely rub against his manhood. He strains upwards for a deeper kiss so you pull back, teasing. The Grandmaster smirks at you, unwilling to plead or beg, gaze wandering down where your breasts are pressed tights against his chest. You won’t win in a battle of wills against him, he will just enjoy himself with his imagination, and so you relent and slide your tongue into his mouth. He tastes good, you don’t know what he does, but he always tastes good.

Haytham's fingers glide lightly over your skin, across your shoulders, back, arse…anywhere he can reach. The feather-light touch has you shivering against his impossibly warm body. His cock strains and pulses against your stomach, trapped and over stimulated.

Haytham sits up, holding you firmly against him as teeth capture your lips with a gentle bite. His arms lock round your back and hips push upwards. You are suddenly flipped back against the bedding, staring up at him. He did it smoothly, effortlessly, eager to have you trapped under him again.

He growls between kisses, ‘Not this time, I have something else in mind.’

You end up with your hands gripping the cool wooden headboard and the Grandmasters body pinning you to the bed, groin cupped against your arse. It was a position that gives him most control, and keeps most of your body turned away from him. You couldn’t touch him with your hands, there wasn’t a lot you could actually do from this position other than submit to the pleasure he has in store for you.

Haytham’s fingers entwined with yours, keeping your hands pinned to the headboard, his lips and teeth scrape along your neck and shoulders, drawing desperate mewling from your own lips. He slides between your legs, using knees to make sure yours are wide enough for him. With a quick flex of his hips the Grandmasters aching cock slips inside you in one long fluid movement tearing a gasp from low in your throat.

‘ _Shhhh!_ ’ He whispers in your ear. You both can’t afford to have anyone else in this house hear or discover the pair of you. You resolve to keep your excitement to yourself but Haytham’s actions always bring out the most from you. He is a man that knows what he is doing and never once disappointed. At times you think he knows your body better than you do.

Hands push down firmly against yours, holding himself up so that he can force himself into you with all the strength of his back and hips. Haytham’s body catches a harsh rhythm in and out of your own. The sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberates through the Templars room with every thrust.

His breathing is heavy, small grunts escape his lips between assaults on your neck. You can hear the strain in keeping quiet, in suppressing his own reaction. At one point you need to bite mouthfuls of bedding under you in order to muffle the wonderful moaning coming from your own mouth as he builds the pleasure in your body.

Haytham slowly removes his hands from yours; you are still grasping the headboard for dear life and causing the bed to creak with every movement. Never mind the excited gasps from you and the Grandmaster, surely everyone in the manor can hear the familiar sound of furniture dancing to the movement of lovers bodies.

He collapses onto of you so that the line of his chest and stomach are moulded to your back. Haytham’s hips keep their rhythm but there isn’t as much power from this new angle but still, he keeps thrusting while a free hand snakes down between your body and the soft mattress.

Coming to the junction between your legs, the Grandmaster slips one long index finger between and finds you wet. He coats his fingers where your bodies are joined before pulling back to massage the sensitive nub that is your clit. 

Gasping and bucking against him as much as your bodies will allow, fingers slide back and forward with ease, teasing and torturing your body as hips continue to move. Haytham increases his pressure, rubbing your hardened clit faster and in ever smaller circles. 

His breathing, you can hear, is becoming erratic. The careful flex of hips between your legs has lost any sort of rhythm and his fingers dance over your body while he gently licks and sucks at your neck, whispering explicit obscenities in your ear in effort to make you come first before he loses control.

Your legs are already shaking, hips moving hesitantly, unsure whether they want to press more firmly against the Templar’s stimulating fingers or push back against the thick cock delving deeply into you. You find yourself murmuring ‘please, please, please’ under your breath, unable to control yourself. You are so close to coming and don’t want him to stop, his rhythm, his touch, anything. If he just kept going...a few more strokes…

Your orgasm rips the breath from you, Haytham didn’t need to keep you quite, your voice whimpers off to nothing and breath catches in your throat as the waves of pleasure that had been building up explode within you like a cup that had been filled and run over. Your muscles tighten and body stiffens under him. No doubt the insufferably smug git can tell but that doesn’t stop the brutal impact of his hips against your backside or the gentle flicking of his fingers across your over sensitised clit.

‘I love you, you know that don’t you?’ Haytham’s voice is low and strained in your ears. You smirk but he can’t see you from this position.

‘Men will say anything in the heat of the moment.’ You tease but his hips grind rubbing himself inside of you.

‘I mean it.’

‘Of course you do.’

The Grandmaster growls frustrated and pulls away. The sudden loss of his weight pushing against you and retreat of warmth from his body is a shock, leaving you shivering in the cool air as sweat trickles down your spine. 

Turning from your position face down on the bed takes much more effort than normal given the happy sated extent of your body and the fact your legs feel like jelly post orgasm.

Your gaze meets Haytham’s in the dim room candle light; his is an unusually dark and serious one. His chest is heaving and he is panting heavily. There is a pained look on his face as if it took much more effort to stop himself and pull his cock from the warm confines of your body than was necessary. He is still rock hard and glistens with a mixture of your arousal and his.

‘You haven’t finished?’

Haytham's teeth are bared as he knees above you in bed.

‘Are you here for the pleasure of my company or as an assassin?’

‘Sorry?’ the change in direction startles you. I he upset because you didn’t say you loved him? He has never responded so seriously to teasing before.

Haytham grins, but not like anything was particularly funny.

‘You take things from my desk, you copy papers, you…listen to conversations with the other Templars. I’m not stupid, I know you are an assassin, I am not asking you to betray your cause as foolish as I think it is, I’m not even asking you to leave them for me.’

Haytham leans back down on the bed, voice like steel. The sexual setting has become much more intimidating as he covers your body again, settling between your legs and face inches from yours. You swallow hard, fighting back panic.

‘So tell me _assassin_ , am I simply a perk of your job? Are you passing your time while you gather intelligence because if your goal is to kill me I’d rather you do it now. In fact I’d prefer it. I wouldn’t even try to stop you.’

He is serious. Deadly serious. The cool grey eyes appraising you and staring straight into your own are determined and unwavering. The look is of such devotion you want to break the gaze, it’s too much, too intimate.

‘I’m not here to kill you.’

Haytham raises one eyebrow

‘I’m not here to spy on you either. No one knows I’m here. It’s just…hard to ignore my assassin training. I tell them I stole some of the information I take back, it’s never anything big, just some bits a pieces useful that may be useful and won’t hurt you too much.’

Haytham bites his lip, breath still coming in short sharp pants from earlier exertions and blowing gently across your face.

‘I-I don’t love you.’ 

His face falls and the the small twitch in his eyes shows how much it hurt to hear it.

‘Not yet.’ You add uncertainly. You are not sure what feeling you have or the extent of them. ‘But, I could. I could love you. I couldn’t kill you, not now, I know that much.’

He nods slowly, still flush against you naked body.

‘You don’t seem disappointed.’ You say.

‘It’s better than I was expecting.’

‘How so?’

‘I was expecting you to stick a blade in my throat.’ His smile wasn’t genuine or comforting despite him trying to make light of the situation you both currently find yourselves in.

Haytham places a soft gentle kiss to your forehead, nose and eventually lips. He pulls you close as he rolls onto his side spooning you against his body.

‘What are we going to do?’ 

It was more like he was asking himself or just wondering out loud, but it didn’t stop you giving a small ‘I don’t know’ in response.


End file.
